


Mergers and Acquisitions

by OnlySlightlyObsessed1



Series: Occupational Hazards [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Jim's POV, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySlightlyObsessed1/pseuds/OnlySlightlyObsessed1
Summary: Starfleet decides to reorganize.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentions of "The Doomsday Machine" s2 e2, and "Charlie X" s2 e7, but there's no reason you need to have watched them.
> 
> I imagine that this stop at the Starbase is the same stop at the Starbase mentioned at the end of the previous story.

Jim hadn’t been expecting to see Matt Decker when they stopped at Starbase 11 for a resupply, the last time he’d seen him had been a year ago at a conference.

“Matt!” Jim said, and Decker looked around, dazed. There wasn’t anyone else in the combined mess and rec room. It was fifteen hundred hours and there weren’t many visiting Starfleet personnel that day. Just the _Enterprise_ team, and the _Constellation_ , apparently.

“Jim,” he said in greeting when Jim sat down next to him on the couch. “I didn’t realize you were in the area.”

“Just here for the day,” Jim said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you either, you don’t look very well, if you don’t mind my saying.” He really didn’t. He had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping, and his hair needed to be washed, and his clothes were wrinkled. It wasn’t like him.

Decker swallowed hard and looked at the floor, “I lost my command, last mission, I can’t . . . I’ve got quarters here while I’m on administrative leave,” he said.

“What happened? They took your ship? Matt, why?”

He shook his head, and almost laughed, saying loudly “No, my crew, I—we were attacked, I lost them, brought the ship back here, for whatever that’s worth,” he lowered his voice back to the rough monotone he’d been talking in. “Starfleet’s looking into it. They say I’m in shock. Gave me time off, counseling, while they wait for the reports.”

There was obviously more to the story. Decker certainly seemed shaken.

Jim put his coffee down. “Tell me from the beginning, what happened to your crew?”

Decker said, “It was a routine mission, uninhabited planet, but there was this thing, huge, as big as our ships, bigger even, I’ve no idea how it kept itself together, flying in and out of the atmosphere like it did. I’m still not sure what it was defending, but it vaporized the shuttle and five of the crew, I got the injured from the planet back up to the ship but something happened with the mediscanner, I don’t know, I wasn’t there, I couldn’t leave the bridge because there was no one else to fly the ship and we had to get out of there. When they beamed up Jeffries said everyone made it to medbay, but no one was answering. When we finally got far enough away it stopped chasing us so I went to see what was happening and—” his voice was hoarse like he’d been crying, or maybe screaming, and his eyes were bright with tears that didn’t fall because he wouldn’t blink.

“Something was wrong with the mediscanner. It was on auto, like it should have been, and all four of them were on biobeds, it was working on Harris, but the biobed’s scanners indicated she was already dead. The others, none of them were moving, I’m not a doctor, I’ve taken the trainings, but the mediscanner’s supposed to handle the big stuff. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if Harris was really dead or not, I couldn’t have said how to help the rest of them without the instructional read out, and maybe not even then. It kept moving between all of them, and coming back to Harris. It declared Juarez dead and went back to Harris, then Iweala, then Jefferies, and it kept working on Harris.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned forward on his knees, his voice was shaking and there were tears dripping on the carpet.

“That’s my whole crew, in less than an hour. Dead. All of them.”

Jim took a slow breath, tried to find something to say, and couldn’t. He put a hand on Decker’s shoulder and shook his head. He could hardly imagine. Losing one crew member was enough. Jim had lost people under his command before, but to lose everyone, to a potential programming error.

“There’s an inquiry, and they’ve got a team inspecting the mediscanner.”

“Matt, I’m so sorry.” It was completely inadequate, but it was the best he could do.

 

 

“Subspace message for you Captain,” Uhura said. “Protocol and assignment updates. Would you like to listen to it now?”

It was just the two of them on the bridge. Scotty, Spock, and Chekov had just left for lunch, Rand had been on night shift, so she was asleep most likely. Sulu was taking his shift in the lab with their newest plant samples. It was a quiet day so far, he’d been looking over their upcoming missions and trying to see where he could fit in some shore leave.

“Why not, on screen Lieutenant.”

Pike’s face filed the viewscreen. It was a prerecorded communication, updates tended to be blasted out to all the Research and Exploration teams all at once in long, incredibly dry, videos.

“Hello Captains, as of Stardate . . .”

Jim set his PADD for note taking, just in case they said something immediately relevant, which was unlikely. Uhura wasn’t watching, Jim didn’t blame her. He supposed he could have taken the call in the ready room but he didn’t feel like moving.

“ . . . all teams with less than five crew-members . . .”

Jim switched his PADD back to the course chart and absently flicked through information on the star systems closest to their next mission. One of them had to have a planet that would be appropriate for an afternoon of leave.

“—reorganization. All Research and Exploration teams must submit a request—”

Jim straightened and almost dropped his PADD, “Pause playback,” Uhura looked over at him. “Lieutenant, go back twenty seconds and restart playback.”

Pike’s voice started up again. “The tragic loss of the Constellation team and subsequent inquiry necessitated a closer look at medical training requirements. Last month an independent review of all training curriculum for non-medical personnel was conducted, as you may be aware, it has prompted Starfleet to begin a campaign for reorganization. All Research and Exploration teams must submit a request for appointment with the nearest Starbase at the conclusion of their next mission. Medical Transport teams and other medical personnel will be assigned to new postings on board Research and Exploration vessels. Commanders may request assignment of their subordinates to specific Research and Exploration teams. Captains may request specific teams or medical personnel be assigned to their ships.

“Medical Transport teams will be assigned together, dependent on available space and personnel requests. Medical Transport ships will be linked with Research and Exploration vessels whenever possible. Questions about these new regulations can be sent to . . .”

“They’re actually doing it,” Uhura said, amazed.

Jim didn’t know what to think. Starfleet command had been resisting assigning permanent medical staff to non-medical ships for years, he’d asked for a fully trained medical crewmember every year he’d had his own command and gotten the form response each time.

“Pity it took losing an entire team to convince them,” he murmured.

Pike was still talking, they’d moved on to new regulations regarding Federation Klingon boundaries. Jim hurried to pull up his notes again, if he could take down the updated boundaries himself, he’d save Sulu having to listen to the whole thing.

 

* * *

 

Recipient: Starfleet Command, Assignments and Postings

Sender: James T. Kirk Post: _Enterprise_ R&E Rank: Captain

Subject: Reorganization assignment request

Body:

On behalf of Research and Exploration team _Enterprise_ I would like to submit a request for the assignment of Medical Transport team six-gamma. Attached are the requisite forms and documentation.

Regards,

Captain James T. Kirk

Attachments: 2

 ---------------------------

Recipient: James T. Kirk Post: _Enterprise_ R&E Rank: Captain

Sender: Starfleet Command, Assignments and Postings

Subject: Medical team assignments

Body:

Captain Kirk,

Your request for the assignment of Medical Transport team six-gamma has been approved. Additional information regarding scheduling for pick up or ship linking will be provided shortly. Please inform your subordinates of any changes to scheduling, posting, assignment, or living quarters as necessary.

 

Starfleet Command Official Correspondence

Personnel Assignments and Postings Management Subdivision

Department of Organizational Operations

* * *

 

 

When the ships locked together and the computer connected McCoy said, “Handing over pilot control and command now Captain.”

It was done.

 

The addition of McCoy’s ship meant that they had two new decks, not counting the extra engines, shuttle, and weapons, but somehow it didn’t feel like very much more space. Medical Transport ships were identical to Research and Exploration ships on the outside, and some of the basic inside arrangement was consistent, but the rooms were all different shapes and had different uses, and by simple necessity, they had more smaller rooms to facilitate patient privacy and individual work. Jim was almost envious, except he knew for a fact that running any kind of ship with only three crew was guaranteed to make your life hell, never mind having other duties on top of that.

 

It had been the first private conversation he'd had with McCoy after his crew had come aboard, the two of them tucked away in McCoy’s office.

"This is the first sensible reorganization Starfleet has instituted since they sent us out here," he had said. "What the hell do I know about commanding a space ship? More than I ever thought I'd need to in med school, that's for sure."

"You're not disappointed then, losing command?" Jim had asked, because he had been slightly concerned. McCoy didn't seem the type to follow orders blindly, he was giving up a lot of autonomy with the unified ship.

But McCoy had just laughed at him and told him a story about one of his first missions.

"A six week combined command and diplomacy course, and off they send us." He shook his head.

"Funny, that's about how much medical training I had when I started my first mission," Jim said.

McCoy got a certain look on his face Jim wasn't sure how to read. "You know, it's a damn miracle we don't lose more people out here."

"It's that kind of a job," was all Jim could think to say, and they had finished their drinks in companionable, if rather somber, silence.

 

 

Jim knew the others in the room were just as curious about McCoy and Spock as he was, but everyone gamely pretended to be totally absorbed in their reading or PADD programs or, in Rand’s case, the small embroidery circle she liked to practice on. Jim snuck glances over one of his old-fashioned books, a genuine antique, paper-bound, with pages. M’Benga and Chapel had elected to stay in their own bunks, which made sense, but to Jim’s slight surprise, McCoy had moved some of his stuff into the bunk over Spock’s. He had thought if either of them moved, it would have been Spock, McCoy’s team’s barracks were smaller, in accordance with the smaller crew size, but they still housed less people overall. When he had inquired earlier in the day, watching McCoy organize things in the cubby, McCoy had just shrugged.

“Spock doesn’t like to admit it,” he had said, after checking that no one else was in the room, “but there’s some kinds of change he doesn’t do well with, and med school trained me well, I can sleep anywhere.”

Eventually even the stragglers made their way to their beds to get ready. Scotty had been obsessively rechecking the linking mechanism, and Sulu had been worried about the irrigation in hydroponics. Jim thought he probably knew everyone’s night time rituals by heart, Rand got up to make her habitual cup of tea, Chekov was reading something on his PADD, it was quiet enough that Spock usually sat down to meditate. Flipping a page, Jim watched McCoy gather his stuff to shower.

When the overhead lights went out Jim put away his book and switched to work on the spatial puzzles he kept on his PADD. McCoy had slipped into the upper bunk and turned over to sleep, as far as Jim could tell. Spock continued to meditate. That at least was normal, and Jim put away his puzzles while he chastised himself for waiting for something to happen like a gossipy preteen.

People drifted off to sleep, Chekov was going to have a mark on his cheek in the shape of a PADD corner in the morning, but Jim really didn’t want to get up and put it away for him. Uhura was on the night shift, so her bunk was empty. Jim recognized Scotty’s breathing below him as having settled into the slow steady rate that meant he was truly asleep.

He opened his eyes when he heard Spock getting up. If he knew Spock at all that meant it was 2330 hours, because he always went to sleep then, and it always woke Jim. Normally he would have just closed his eyes again, but Spock was climbing into McCoy’s bunk and he was curious. McCoy seemed to be asleep, or nearly, like Jim was, because he only turned over slightly at Spock’s gentle push. The bunks were small, not very long or very wide, really only meant for one person, there might have even been a regulation about it. In the light of Sulu’s PADD, from the bunk under Chekov, Jim could see he was watching too.

Spock somehow managed to scoot McCoy over until he was practically in the wall cubby and then laid himself down, pulling McCoy to back onto the mattress, though mostly face-down on Spock. The room was silent and still again.

When Jim woke in the morning McCoy was already dressed and Spock was nowhere to be seen. It figured they’d both be morning people.

 

The admittedly rather slight embarrassment of seeing McCoy and Spock fit themselves into the tiny bunks lost its bite almost immediately. Mostly because McCoy, Chapel, and M’Benga fit in with the original members of Jim’s team so seamlessly that by the end of the first week it was hard to remember they’d ever been separate crews. McCoy especially managed to completely disarm all of Jim’s formal defenses with a combination of his easy-going casual humor and baffling ability to challenge Jim’s orders, rank and chain of command be damned, without ever actually stepping out of bounds. He made Jim think, often acting as a counter to Spock’s perspective, which had been something of a surprise, but his advice quickly became indispensable. They got along well, more than just his subordinate, Jim was increasingly inclined to call McCoy his friend, and he could tell that Spock, in his own quiet way, was thrilled.

By the beginning of week two Jim thought he understood why Spock had said people often assumed they disliked each other. If they didn’t all live together, he might have come to the same incorrect conclusion.

At first, it had almost made Jim nervous.

They had come off shift together, already arguing as they entered the mess hall where Jim had just sat down with his own tray. McCoy tone was scornful, “Just because you’re allergic to expressing the full spectrum of emotion—”

Spock interrupted him, and Jim’s stomach clenched. “Doctor if I am averse to expressing emotion it is only to make up for your inappropriately expressive nature.”

“Inappropriately expressive? What would you know? You couldn’t express your way out of a wet paper bag!”

“Nor would I need to, for I would not allow myself to be confined in such a manner, additionally, there are many far more effective methods for removing a wet paper bag from one’s person.”

They sat down at Jim’s table and he smiled politely at them, wondering with a vague sense of impending doom if he was going to have to play at being a marriage counselor. But McCoy left Spock’s parting remark float away and Spock said, “Good evening Jim.”

Hoping to avoid any rekindling of their previous disagreement Jim kept up a polite chatter about the mission and what had happened during the shift, but Spock and McCoy genuinely didn’t seem irritated at each other. While Jim talked, Spock ate half of McCoy’s green beans directly off his plate and McCoy gazed at him with apparent content. Jim reminded himself that the novelty of seeing each other had obviously worn off, and given he barely knew McCoy at all, he wasn’t in any position to evaluate the health of their marriage.

 

It became apparent that McCoy and Spock took great delight in bitter sounding arguments that could and did transition seamlessly into fond looks and dramatic eyerolls. It was something adorable, how half a sentence from McCoy and Spock seemed to forget there were other people in the room. They were as distracting as they were entertaining, and though he wouldn’t have admitted to it, on occasion, Jim gave in to temptation to fuel the fire.

“Do you believe the legend, Mister Spock, that Thasians still exist on that planet in some form?”

“Charlie's very existence proves in fact there must be some intelligent form of life on Thasus. He could not possibly have survived alone. The ship's food concentrates would have been exhausted in a year or so,” Spock said in answer.

“By which time he would have been eating fruits, vegetables,” McCoy said directly to Spock, and Jim could see the change in expression and intake of breath that was Spock’s attention zeroing in on McCoy. They spoke in such quick succession Jim wasn’t sure they were even finishing their sentences.

“Probes of Thasus indicate very little edible plant life.” Spock turned towards McCoy.

“And probes have been known to be wrong, Spock.” McCoy leaned in and Jim, who had been about to reluctantly break in, had to look down and smile.

“Doctor, are you speaking scientifically or emotionally?”

And there they were, staring at each other, McCoy sitting on Spock’s console bent over, exasperated, and Spock, all innocent raised eyebrows and arms folded.

“Gentlemen,” Jim said, he’d take the chance he was given, caught as they were in each other’s gaze. “the fact is the boy is here and he's alive and he needs our help.”

Just like that the spell was broken and they turned back to him.

 

For all they gravitated to each other on shift when possible, they were professional enough, careful enough, not to make too much of a spectacle of themselves on duty. Off duty was another matter entirely; Spock and McCoy had the amazing ability to argue and snipe at each other while engaged in what would otherwise be sickeningly cutesy displays of affection.

“I would have suspected even an illogical, emotionally driven, irrational person such as yourself would have been able to understand such a simple concept,” Spock said while they lay on the couch in the rec room, McCoy resting on Spock’s chest, Spock’s arms draped over his shoulders, one hand tapping the rhythm of his heartbeat.

 

“It would take a computerized Vulcan brain such as yours to make that kind of a statement,” was McCoy’s grumbled conclusion to a particularly vicious ethical debate down on the planet’s surface. The displeasure in his tone was belied by the careful hand he kept at Spock’s back while they filed out of the transporter room, as if worried his treatment on the planet hadn’t been sufficient to rid Spock of the poison.

 

“The most unfortunate lack in current computer programming is that there is nothing available to immediately replace a ship’s surgeon,” Spock said, gazing across the table at McCoy, whose eyebrow shot up.

“Is that not what the mediscanner is for?”

“The mediscanner is a useful tool no doubt,” Spock skewered one of the pieces of fried vegetable on his plate. “But our crew is that much safer for the presence of your brilliant medical mind aboard.” McCoy’s expression blanked and Spock took advantage of his slightly open mouth to entice him to eat the vegetable off his fork. Over Spock’s shoulder, Jim caught Chapel’s eye. She had slapped a hand over her mouth, likely to prevent the same incriminating soft laughter he was desperately trying to choke back himself.

 

Jim couldn’t have said if it was their first fight on the ship together, or even if they were actually fighting, in fact, he only noticed it when he sounded the alert and the com call from McCoy he had subconsciously been waiting for didn’t come.

It threw him, more than it should have. McCoy, of course, was under no obligation of any sort to call the bridge, but Jim felt off balance without him. Everyone else was absorbed with their posts, and Jim didn’t have time to dwell on it. They weren’t in Federation space and the Orion ship on the edge of their long range scan was plenty to worry about.

“Mister Chekov, navigate around them, maintain this distance. I’d like to avoid a confrontation if at all possible,” he said. He barely heard Chekov’s smart “Yes sir” in reply, busy as he was combing through their charts. The Orions had made no claim to this space either, as far as anyone in the Federation knew. The tense atmosphere didn’t dissipate until well after they’d left the Orion ship behind and Jim called off the alert. McCoy still hadn’t made a call to the bridge.

 

“If I jumped every time a light came on around here, I’d never get a damned thing done,” McCoy said at dinner, only the slightest hint of defensiveness in his voice. But the strange silence between him and Spock persisted the rest of the meal.

“A minor, recurring disagreement,” Spock said during their chess game. He looked up and stiffened upon seeing Jim’s skeptical expression. “It will not affect our working relationship, I assure you Captain.”

“No, I’m, I’m asking as your friend, Spock,” Jim tried say as casually as possible.

Spock didn’t relax very much, but he did acquiesce to murmur, “Allowances must be made, in any relationship. You need not be concerned.”

At some point between then and the next morning, they must have made up, because when Jim arrived at breakfast they were already embroiled in a completely incomprehensible, but friendly, disagreement about jam and Vulcan pastries.


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy’s team’s presence had come in handy almost right away. He organized regular full physicals and ordered all their diet cards changed. Jim, for better or for worse, was becoming well acquainted with salad.

He hadn’t exactly been hoping to test McCoy’s surgical expertise first hand, but three days into a desperate attempt to rescue several workers trapped in a power plant on one of the Federation’s more isolated outposts, he found himself waking up in sickbay. Jim blinked as Chapel made her way over to him.

“How are you feeling Captain?”

“Alright,” he tried to say, but his throat was extremely dry.

She handed him a glass and busied herself with the biobed monitors and commed whoever to tell them he had woken up.

“I feel alright, tired,” he said, much more clearly for the water.

“Sedation is still wearing off, and you’re still on a low dose of pain medicine, Doctor McCoy had to go over your hip twice with the bone knitter,” she informed him.

Spock entered.

“Captain, it is good that you are awake. Nurse, is he well enough to speak with Starfleet command?”

“Commander Spock, you’re supposed to be in bed,” Chapel frowned at him.

“Negative, my injuries were superficial and Doctor M’Benga has applied adequate treatment. Mister Scott was in need of rest, as I am adequately rested, I relieved him.”

Chapel didn’t look pleased, and Jim had obviously missed a lot, he hadn’t known Spock had gotten hurt.

“He has to stay in bed, and he needs rest. I’ll allow a five minute conversation, nothing more.”

“Mister Spock, report,” he ordered and Chapel pushed him down as he tried to sit up.

“You sustained a concussion and chattered your pelvis when the container fell on you. Mister Sulu and I sustained minor injuries from the falling debris. Mister Scott and the rest of the crew continued to work at freeing the trapped survivors while our injuries were seen to. As of twelve point eight minutes ago all the survivors have been recovered and are in treatment. Engineer Scott, Ensign Chekov, and Yeoman Rand have been relieved. Lieutenant Uhura has been in communication with Starfleet throughout the proceedings. Mister Scott and I are in agreement that the power plant should be retired. The likelihood of another accident such as this one is high. Starfleet command have heard my report and wish to speak with you.”

That was an immense relief, although Jim hated to have been unconscious for the majority of the rescue attempt.

“I’ll talk to them, but I can’t tell them anymore than you could,” Jim said.

Spock hesitated, “I believe we have new orders, sir.”

Which of course they did.

 

It took some getting used to, being an ambulance as well as a research vessel. Speeding back at warp eight to drop off their patients only to head out in a rush not five minutes later to attend to an epidemic several light years away had everyone running about, in a hurry to get the ship back in order. Jim, having just escaped sickbay, tried to stay out of the way of McCoy and his medical staff. They’d picked up several temporary assignment crew for extra support.

Once they got there—

 

The hospitals were cramped, supplies were running out everywhere, the new ones they brought would be enough for their hospital for another week, but everyone was waiting on the larger supply ships that were still on their way. There weren’t enough beds, weren’t enough nurses, doctors, orderlies, scientists, not enough janitors and maintenance workers either. It was amazing, to see his crew in their element, and heartbreaking, because he and the others who were of no scientific use were assigned to help with patient care and any odd jobs that needed doing.

The morgue was full. There wasn’t any need to do autopsies for the most part, Bones had told him, they knew why people were dying.

Theirs was a University Hospital. The next building over was a cafeteria, which had large walk in refrigeration. The bodies were brought there in biocontainment bags to allow any living family time to collect them and mourn.

“All the gurneys have been converted to beds,” a nurse Jim didn’t recognize told him. “We’re carrying the bodies out by hand now.”

She disappeared into the corridor amid the other medical personnel. The body in the bed was small, probably a child.

 

Rand was sitting outside in the back, slowly finishing a drink of water. Her face was disturbingly blank.

“Are you holding up alright? Yeoman?” Jim asked.

She looked up at him, almost startled. “Considering the circumstances,”

He put a hand on her shoulder, unsure for whose benefit, and she bit her lip, looking across the road at the building, Jim figured she was thinking much the same as him, there were far too many bodies there for it to look so normal.

“Pavel’s having a rough time sir,” Rand said after a moment in a quiet voice. “Commander Spock gave him an hour off.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

She nodded, and Jim made some attempt at a smile, patting her on the shoulder once again before heading back inside. They all deserved better than this.

 

The worst of it was over by the time Starfleet pulled them back. New teams had been sent out to meet them, some of them McCoy had known. Jim had overheard a couple conversations in low voices, various ‘What should I expect?’s, and ‘How are you managing?’s. The ship usually felt busy, but everyone was dead tired, and after the crowds at the hospitals and clinics it seemed remarkably empty.

Not as empty as he’d thought, apparently. The ready room had been dark, and of all people he hadn’t expected to find Bones there, certainly not alone.

“Jim.” McCoy was wiping his eyes hurriedly but it didn’t do anything to hide his dark circles and puffy eyelids, nor the wetness that welled up in them immediately again anyways. “How are you doing?”

“Seems like I should be asking you that question,” Jim said, dropping down next to him.

“I’m glad we don’t see too many epidemics like this one,” Bones said, and if he had been trying to sound casual, he failed miserably. Jim draped an arm around his shoulders as McCoy buried his face in his hands again.

“Me too, Bones.”

McCoy’s shoulders shook.

 

“Where’s Spock?”

“He needed some time alone,” McCoy said, still slumped against the table and Jim’s side.

“Of course.” Jim could respect that, McCoy might have wanted some time alone too. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, I’ve had enough time by myself in the dark.”

Jim was glad, a little selfishly. He certainly didn’t want to be alone. His arms still felt heavy, like he was still holding bodies. Abruptly, he was a little peeved with Spock, leaving McCoy sitting alone in the dark in the ready room. But then if he had been there, Jim presence wouldn’t be particularly welcome.

As if in response to his thoughts, the door opened to admit Spock, with a tray of mugs. Bones didn’t look up, but seemed to know it was Spock anyways because he raised one hand from the table with his two fingers extended. Spock put the tray down and met them with his own just briefly.

“Leonard, Jim.”

Jim nodded at him.

“I have brought decaffeinated coffee, with your habitual additions,” Spock said, and offered Jim a mug.

Jim had been feeling so numb and tired coffee hadn’t even occurred to him, and the unexpected gesture of kindness from Spock made him want to join McCoy in weeping on the table. Instead he took the mug gratefully and held it to his chest while he closed his eyes and let the wave of grief wash over him. The warmth, combined with the smell, was relaxing, and he felt McCoy sit up, presumably to take his own mug.

“Thank you, Spock,” Jim said, opening his eyes. “How are you?”

“I am well,” Spock said.

Decaffeinated coffee always tasted just slightly off, but it was wonderful to drink all the same. Across the table Spock had his own drink, probably tea. Bones was staring blankly into his coffee, holding it with two hands, Jim was starting to worry he was more than a little not okay. When he looked up Spock caught his eye.

Jim stood.

“Where are you going?” Spock asked.

“I,” Jim blinked at him, Bones was also looking up at him, confused. “I was going to give the two of you some time alone.”

“Why?” Bones asked.

Jim opened his mouth and then had to pause. McCoy and Spock knew exactly why he would be giving them privacy, so that wasn’t really what they meant. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked after a second of consideration, chewing on his lip.

“It is customary to spend time among one’s friends after such a taxing experience.”

Jim sat back down.

Bones and Spock went back to their respective hot beverages, and Jim followed suit. He supposed none of them really felt much like talking about it yet. They had a week’s leave, beginning whenever they got to their destination. They could go back to a Starbase, but Jim didn’t think anyone was going to find that the most attractive option. There was a particularly gorgeous stellar nursery only half a day’s journey at warp, and at least two M-class planets where they could take a real shore leave. When his crew had had a chance to rest a bit longer, he would get their input.

 

The visit to the nursery couldn’t really be classified as any sort of _shore_ leave, because no one actually got to get off the ship, and they still had to put a rotating shift in place, but it was significant enough leisure time, and they had spent days working planetside rendering aide to the hospital. Being back on the ship felt like home.

The observation deck was a popular spot. Jim took a seat on the couch next to Spock and Bones, who were making use of their time off duty by pretending they were surgically fused together. For the moment, Spock was watching the window, as Jim was, where the nebula passed slowly in brilliant blues and purples. Bones had evidently fallen asleep, and was tucked into Spock’s chest, protected by the arm Spock had around his side.

Minutes passed, Jim got himself a mug of tea, it wouldn’t do to drink caffeine when he was going to need to get to sleep at some point in the next couple of hours. Bones woke up suddenly, as if he hadn’t meant to have fallen asleep in the first place.

“You weren’t supposed to let me fall asleep while we’re watching the nebula,” he said, voice a bit thick with sleep still.

“You have not slept properly since we arrived at Vaymar two. I believed your need for rest outweighed your desire to see the nebula,” Spock told him, his hand coming up to rest at Bones’s nape. He was pliant as Bones made a fuss rearranging their arms and legs and when Bones finally settled back down in almost the exact same position Jim had to bite his lip so as not to laugh.

“Are we going to have some nice holos of this view when we’re done here?” Bones asked.

“We’re taking scans, yes,” Jim told him.

“That’s good, I’d like to send some home,” Bones said, but his voice was getting quieter, and when Jim looked back his eyes were closed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe this isn't much of an ending, but hey they're all friends and on a ship together🤷♀️


End file.
